


Under An Ink Dark Moon

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: The Mummy (1999)
Genre: Backstory, Childhood, F/M, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anck-Su-Namun starts down the path to who she will be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under An Ink Dark Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoundandColor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoundandColor/gifts).



> Never written these characters before, so this was an adventure! Anck-Su-Namun's backstory was completely made up, not based on the real person at all since there seems to be no way to link her and the movie character. Also, apologies for anything that seems incongruous; I did do a bit of research on Ancient Egyptian culture, but any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Hope you enjoy requester, and Happy Yuletide! Also Merry Christmas if you're into that ;)

She was born in a tiny little house of sun-bleached brick, hidden away on a small, winding backstreet in the heart of the city’s poor quarter. The street was not even wide enough for two horses to pass, and directly opposite, set back in a space between two houses, a tall cypress tree stood. When the wind came in off the desert the branches would sway hypnotically, and she would watch for hours, entranced.

The smell of the leaves accompanied her throughout her childhood days. Her mother had one room in the little house, and when she went out at night to ply her trade a neighbour would look after her young daughter.

Anck-Su-Namun didn’t realize her mother was a whore until she was thirteen years old. Before that, she hadn’t even really understood what that meant.

“You are beautiful like me, child,” her mother would say with a heavy sigh. “I wish for a better life for you, but…”

It was never to be. Anck-Su-Namun’s mother had a friend, a man who dealt in high-quality courtesans, and he was always looking for fresh faces. When she was fifteen, he came at sunset and negotiated a price.

Her mother cried when she let go of her hand for the final time. As they walked away, Anck-Su-Namun bend down and picked up a handful of the cypress leaves, pressing them into her palm, keeping them hidden, to remember.

She never saw her mother again.

“You’re going to rise fast, my dear,” her mother’s friend assured her. She learnt the ways of a courtesan, how to act, how to sit, how to dance, how to talk and smile and laugh. What to wear and when, about jewellery and cosmetics and food. So much to remember. But she exceled, and her master was pleased.

One evening her brought her to his office. They sat on divans opposite each other, a wide open window covered in a swinging silk curtain to their left letting in the early evening air. “The Pharaoh is looking for a new concubine,” he confided, sipping his wine and delicately reaching over to pluck a grape. “I am interested in it that being you.”

The Pharaoh. The riches would be beyond belief. Anything she wanted would be hers. “Are you amenable?” her master asked.

She’d never said yes so quickly.

It was no love story. Seti didn’t know the instant his eyes fell on her that she was to be his. Anck-Su-Namun had to prove herself.

But she did. She had. And now she stood in a dark garden, part of the royal gardens of Thebes, bathed in moonlight, and the wedding was two months away.

There were fountains in the garden; huge fountains, sculpted in fantastic and beautiful shapes. Water flowed over them at all times, an almost unimaginable luxury. Anck-Su-Namun had never seen so much water used so wastefully; they entranced her.

She let her hand drift under one, reverently letting the water glide over her hands. _So much used. So much wasted. So much_ power.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a voice said close behind her.

Despite all her carefully practised poise, she jumped and whirled. Behind her was a richly dressed man, bald and handsome, smiling benevolently. He made a low bow. “I apologise profusely for startling you. I don’t believe we have been introduced; I am Imhotep, High Priest of Osiris.”

His holy status calmed her nerves somewhat, although there was still something keeping her on edge. “Good evening,” she murmured back. “What…what are you doing out here? I thought I was alone.”

Imhotep’s smile became a little sly. “You did not choose a private garden, your highness. You must expect to meet many in the public places of the palace.”

_I did not choose a private garden, but perhaps I ought to_ make _it private._ For a moment she savoured the thought that she had enough power to do so. “Yes,” she said aloud, “There are few places where one may be alone and not expect to meet someone.”

“Not even the private family gardens, I think,” Imhotep said, shaking his head.

Anck-Su-Namun pressed her mouth into a thin line. “I do not frequent the private family gardens. Her highness Princess Nefertiri is fond of them.”

“She does not like you,” Imhotep said quietly.

Startled by his frankness, Anck-Su-Namun replied honestly, “She resents me.”

“Do you blame her?”

 Anck-Su-Namun floundered. This was not an appropriate conversation. But she continued honestly; “No. She misses her mother. Hates me because I was a commoner.”

Surprisingly, Imhotep laughed. “Nefertiri doesn’t hate you because you were a commoner, your highness. She hates you because she sees you as haughty.” He smirked. “And because you bully her.”

Anck-Su-Namun stiffened. “I- this is not an discussion-”

“This is not a discussion that will leave this garden, so you may be frank with me, your highness,” Imhotep said, smiling. “Perhaps it will comfort you to hear me admit that I am not overly fond of Princess Nefertiri myself, nor she of me.”

Intrigued, Anck-Su-Namun asked, “Why?”

“Because she does not trust me.”

Anck-Su-Namun smiled. “She doesn’t trust me, either.”

Imhotep raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She laughed. “I said the princess didn’t like me. I didn’t say she was an idiot.”

“So it is wise not to trust you,” Imhotep said, eyes gleaming. “I admit, you intrigue me with these glimpses, my lady.”

There was something in the air between them, a sense of danger, of mischief. They shouldn’t even be here, alone, together. They were doing nothing suspicious, and he was a holy man, but still…there was something _forbidden_ about it all. And it thrilled Anck-Su-Namun in a breathless, slightly guilty way. What could they do, together? What was this a gateway to? The Pharaoh had power, power Anck-Su-Namun craved, but this man, even in a seemingly innocent talk in a dark garden, had _excitement_. Mystery seemed to bleed off him even as he stood.

“A Pharaoh’s wife must be mysterious,” she whispered, smirking.

“Indeed.” His eyes flashed, something almost dangerous. Anck-Su-Namun’s breath caught. _A dark game. High risks._

A voice carried over the still night air, calling to her. One of her handmaidens. “I must go,” she said, feeling strangely regretful.

He bowed deeply. “Another time, then, your highness.”

Back in her chambers, Anck-Su-Namun sent all her handmaidens and slaves away with a single gesture. Alone, blissfully alone, she went to the lacquered ivory box she kept at her bedside and opened it reverently.

The small handful of cypress leaves, so carefully preserved. She hadn’t gone back; she didn’t want to go back.

She remembered the look in the priest’s eyes; the want. _The want for a woman._

_I don’t want to go back._

Slowly, deliberately, she rose and fed each tiny scrap of leaf to the flames of a torch. She held them, watched them burn, placing each with deliberate care.

_Only children hold onto the past._

 


End file.
